The dust on the blue suitcase left grey streaks across my damp palm as I dragged it from the hallway closet.
On the kitchen table, the morning light hit the faded floral wallpaper, making the old grease spots near the stove look bright and yellow.
I cleared my throat before speaking softly. “Do you think we need the heavy coats, or just light jackets?”
Arthur did not look up from the local newspaper.
“Light ones should do,” he said.
His clipped voice always made me feel like I was interrupting a private meeting in our own home.
I twisted my silver wedding band, spinning the cold metal until the skin underneath turned red.
“Leo is late coming home,” Arthur said, folding the sports section into a tight square. “He was supposed to be back by seven.”
“He probably stayed at Greg’s to play video games,” I said, placing three pairs of trousers into the suitcase.
“He didn’t call,” Arthur said.
“He’s fifteen, Arthur. They don’t call.”
I had checked the stone porch earlier, making sure the brass spare key was tucked safely in the dry dirt beneath the bottom step.
If Leo did show up while we were running errands, he would need a way to get inside.
At two in the afternoon, the smell of damp autumn leaves and engine oil met me at the door of the garage workshop.
The leaves outside smelled like rot, clinging to the wet driveway in thick, dark patches.
Vance, Arthur’s cousin, stood near the drill press holding a shiny steel bracket.
“Brought the fuel pump gasket,” Vance said, his gravelly voice competing with the hum of the electric heater.
He reached into his pocket, his fingers jingling loose change.
Arthur took the metal part, his thumb tracing the machined edge before he rubbed his temples.
“We still have enough in the account for the shore excursions, don’t we?” I asked, stepping over a pile of metal shavings.
“The cruise coordinator said those sell out early,” I added.
Vance shifted his weight, his loose change rattling louder in his pocket.
He looked down at the concrete floor, his mouth tightening into a thin line.
